She stared at him.
Cole said, “We’re going to resolve this so we’re both winners. I have a really nice proposition for you. But first you and I are going to take charge of this little expedition. The gun, please.”
No, that’s not how it’s going to work.
Her Glock in her right hand rested against her thigh.
I’m going to kill this bastard, she told herself. I’m going to shoot him in a few seconds.
She studied him intently. He had his finger on the rifle’s trigger, and the barrel moved up now to her chest. But in the periphery of her vision there was something else. Something way across the field. A double circle of flash. Binoculars. Porter?
Kiera said, “You really think you can get the Hmong and the Buddhists to back off?
“I can’t. You can.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to happen.”
“Don’t play games, sweetheart.”
“You shoot me, you get nothing. Except death, and death is on its way.” She glanced over his shoulder. “So maybe you better think of another way to resolve this.”
She said it with calm and very matter-of-fact and he seemed to sense she wasn’t kidding.
Porter and half a dozen Hmong were moving in their direction.
Cole couldn’t resist a quick glance. It wasn’t much, but enough. She raised the Glock and shot him.
It surprised her how fast she did it. She came up with the Glock and pulled the trigger and then pulled the trigger a second time.
He seemed utterly surprised as if it was the last thing he expected her to do. As if the negotiations were going to go on and she would come around to his view of things.
At least one bullet hit bone as it forced him to take a step back before he sat down, his weapon falling next to him.
Then he bent forward and listed off to the side.
She knew he was dead before she touched his carotid artery to make sure.
“We’re not doing things your way,” she said.
She watched Porter as he jogged toward her.
“He dead?”
“Very much so. I take it the bandits or whatever they are didn’t make out any better?”
“It didn’t work out so good for them.” Porter smiled and shook his head. “What possessed you to do this and how the hell did you convince the Hmong at the caves to go along with it?”
“A dream.”
“A dream?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Porter looked back at the chopper ruins. “How’d that happen?”
“They left without Cole so he shot it down.”
They both turned as Bo and the mahout came toward them. Then the other elephants and Hmong soldiers emerged from various points in the jungle. All of them checking out the smoldering ruins of the chopper.
“That must have been one hell of a dream,” Porter said. “The Trac sisters would have been proud.”
Kiera smiled. “I think they would have.”
56
The sweet pungency of a cinnamon smell from Joss sticks burning along the walls inside the main cave filled the air.
The dead bodies of the Hmong, along with one dead Buddhist monk, all lay on makeshift funeral beds, awaiting a ceremony.
Strings were placed across the bodies, including the backpack holding the remains of the man Kiera would turn over to the military recovery authorities in Bangkok.
Kiera sat with Phommasanh and Porter Vale in the place of honor facing the carefully wrapped bodies.
Chants to heal the bad karma reverberated against the rock walls, a power of incredible emotion.
After the Hmong’s spiritual leader said his chanting prayers, Narith said the Diamond Sutra in English:
“Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world: A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream; A flash of lightning in a summer flood; A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream.”
After a silence, after it was over, Kiera felt the whole weight of what had happened—not just since her arrival, but from all that had happened in her grandfather’s war.
Two hours after the ceremony the statue of Trung Trac, secured on the back of an elephant and accompanied by Narith and the armed Viet monks and four Hmong, left for Nui Ba Den, the mountain of the Black Virgin. The secret icon would return to its secret home.
The remaining Hmong, led by Phommasanh and Tang, cleared the caves and melted into the jungle on their way to a new home in the mountain jungles farther north. A resilient, nomadic people.
Kiera said goodbye to Bo and then she and Porter, with two Hmong escorts, headed for the Sweet Serpent and Thailand. Her plan was to hand over the remains to U.S. authorities in Bangkok, and then go with Porter to Burma.
After that? Who knew… The only thing
she
knew was that she didn’t intend to let the elusive Porter Vale out of her sight, at least for a while. Hell, maybe they could pay his father a little visit in Tahiti for some R&R, work at their unfinished business while she sorted out how she felt and what was next.
As though he guessed her thoughts, Porter turned to her and landed a quick kiss on her mouth, then pulled away, leaving her with a smile…maybe a glimpse of what was to come.
It didn’t matter now. Nothing much mattered. As long as they were together, for however long that might be, she had a feeling they were an insurmountable force.
And that felt good.
Coming Soon!
Look for
Cool Heat
in February, 2013
While trying to solve a murder, former Tahoe investigator Sydney Jessup becomes the target of a professional killer hot on her trail, a killer hired by the most powerful man in the Sierra Nevada. Her success or failure will depend on her ability to elicit help from ex-con, Marco Cruz, but helping her threatens his lucrative future with the very man who wants her dead.
About the Author
Richter Watkins writes thrillers that invariably include the great outdoors. He grew up in the mountains of Pennsylvania where he began a lifelong love of trekking in the wilderness. A war veteran who earned his MFA in screenwriting from the American Film Institute, Richter presently lives in San Diego with his wife, Mary Leo.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my wife, Mary Leo, for her endless patience and endurance. To Jocelyn Hughes for her insightful reads, and to Janet Wellington for her editing expertise.
And a special thanks to David Morrell and the folks at ITW for creating a brilliant thriller organization that has resurrected many a stalled career.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Lethal Redemption
Copyright © 2012 by Richter Watkins
Published by Pryde Multimedia, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author and/or publisher.